The Morning After
by DisturbingBunnyRabbit
Summary: The morning after a drunken, one night stand is always awkward, and sometimes painful. This is doubly true if that one night stand happened to be with your brother. Hilarity ensues. ScotxEng, no lemon but lots of vulgarity and swearing. Read&Review, please.


**A.N.)** Yeah...I love ScotEng, and any Britcest pairing really, so this was born. Not really romantic or sexy, but what can ya do? This is what came to mind and I just HAD to XD. I'm terrible at accents, so I left Scotland's dialog alone. Y'all are just gonna have to use your imaginations. Don't worry, I have faith in you. ;)

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England's eyelid's twitched and he gave a groan of discomfort as weak sunlight filtered in through his bedroom window. His head was pounding, his mouth was dry and he generally felt like shit.

_Urgh…fucking hell…I'll never drink again, I swear. _

After lying still a few moments in an attempt to prolong the last few vestiges of blissful sleep that clung to him, England soon became aware of some rather peculiar and slightly disturbing facts. For one, his bum was a bit sore. Two, his mouth had that almost musky and rather unappealing taste one got from having ones mouth around another's genitals. Three, upon further inspection, he could almost swear he felt the small metal ball of his tongue ring in. England began to feel tiny tendrils of dread creep around his stomach. His fear only worsened when he heard what seemed to be a slight snore and rustling come from the spot next to him in bed.

_Oh damn…oh damn…damn…damn, DAMN._

England wracked his brain, trying to recall last night's events, and then stopping because thinking fucking hurt like hell.

With more than a little trepidation, England turned around on his side to face his bed mate. And then his mind blanked.

_Oh…SHIT. _

There, facing him, was his older brother's freckled, sleeping face. Scotland's mouth was hung open slightly, and a small bit of drool was collecting at one corner. He gave another slight snore and then turned his face into towards the pillow, shockingly red hair sticking up in all directions in an almost endearing fashion. England gulped.

Slowly, he sat up, wincing at the pain in his lower back as he did. He raised his hand to his tongue and tentatively felt for his tongue ring. Yup. Definitely there. But when on earth had he put that in? What the bloody hell had happened last night? He couldn't remember a blasted thing. He groaned quietly to himself and laid his head in his hands.

Now, it's not as if England found his brother unattractive, oh no. He had admitted to himself long ago that Scotland was, well, rather dashing, to say the least. However, he'd never entertained serious thoughts about bedding him for a few note-worthy reasons. A) He and Scotland were, after all, brothers, and while Nations generally had less strong taboos about incest than humans, it was still a bit weird. B) He and Scotland very rarely got on well, and most sensible, non-self-destructive people generally avoided shagging people at whom they were more often than not screaming. And, C) England knew perfectly well, that Scotland, proud as he was, would never consent to anything but topping. Not that England minded being on the receiving end, mind you, but that was altogether different than being _dominated_, and England knew that if ever Scotland fucked him, he'd see it as some sort of masculinity-asserting triumph.

Oh, Scotland was going to be absolutely dreadful about this whole ordeal, he just knew it. He didn't know if he'd be able to tolerate the smirks or smug, side-long glances he just KNEW were coming.

…Well. No point in just sitting there. With what seemed to him a great effort, England heaved himself out of bed and walked groggily into the bathroom. There, he stopped in front of his mirror and carefully removed his piercing, setting aside to be cleaned later, then brushing his teeth and rinsing his mouth well, to get out what he presumed was the taste of fellatio. He grimaced slightly at the thought and then put away his tongue ring after careful cleaning. Then it was a quick yet vigorous shower, during the course of which he discovered quite a few hickey's and bite marks. He scrubbed harder.

_That's right, old boy, just scrub that shame away, scrub it all away…_

Shame, as it turns out, does not scrub away.

As he was becoming more acutely aware of his aches and pains, England popped a few painkillers after dressing, and then set to making his way downstairs, with a slight limp. In his (to him) obnoxiously bright kitchen, he prepared a kettle for tea, and popped a couple pieces of bread in the toaster. Once his meagre breakfast was prepared, he brought it in with him to the living room and sat down in his armchair to watch some news on the telly.

It was halfway though his second cuppa that he heard it. Heavy, shuffling footsteps coming down his stairs. He watched the foot of them, bracing himself for the inevitable. The tall, muscular figure of his brother, clad only in tartan pants, soon came into view. Scotland yawned and scratched his exposed stomach before turning around to catch his brother's eye. A devilish smirk spread across his face, making him look incorrigibly impish, and England felt his face burn and his ears turn red as he turned away from the man quickly.

Scotland sauntered into the kitchen, pouring himself some tea, and England was much chagrined to notice long, bright red scratch marks running down the expanse of his pale, broad back. Scotland turned, and leaned back against the counter to survey England over the rim of his cup, with his bright green eyes that England and all his older siblings shared. Scotland was the first to speak.

"So…" His lips curled smugly and his eyes seemed to dance with wicked amusement as he watched his sibling stiffen at his voice. England glared at him, as if daring him to bring up last night. Scotland's grin only widened.

"So tell me, what was it like to have me fuck you?" England's face burned hotter with renewed anger and embarrassment.

"Fucking awful!" England spat spitefully. "No better incentive not to get so pissed again, let me tell you." Scotland seemed rather unfazed by this outburst, and calmly brought out a lighter and cigarette (from where, England had no idea) and lit up.

"Really?" He blew out a puff of smoke. "How strange, I don't remember it that way. What was it you said again?" England sent him a warning glare.

"Scotland, put that damn thing out this instant and belt up, you're stinking up the place."

"Ah, yes, I remember…"

"Scotland…" The redhead wore the most utterly shit-eating grin England had ever seen anyone wear since Ireland managed to slip Viagra into his tea during a meeting.

"Oh, Scotland, Scotland, yes, yes, harder, HARDER!" The man was affecting a high pitched voice with a rather poor and exaggerated English accent.

"SCOTLAND YOU SHUT YOUR BLOODY MOUTH-

"Oh, yes, there, ah, faster, faster, fuck me faster, _please!_"

"I MEAN IT!"

"Ohhhh, Scotland, AH! Take me harderrrr, ohhhhh, I'm _coming_~!"

England let out an incomprehensible shriek of rage as Scotland dissolved into near hysterical cackling. England threw his teacup at his brother's head in blind fury and sprang to his feet. Scotland ducked, porcelain shattering against the wall after barley missing a collision with his face. England was so angry that his clenched, white-knuckled fists were trembling.

"Get…Out…Now."

"Wha-?"

"I said get OUT!" The plate he had eaten his toast on was next to go. Scotland swore, and ducked again, but a few sharp pieces rebounded off the wall and pelted his exposed skin. With a yelp, he dashed out of the kitchen, dropping his still smouldering cigarette and racing upstairs.

"I WANT YOU OUT OF MY FUCKING HOUSE WITHIN THE HOUR, DO YOU HEAR ME?!" England's chest heaved up and down with exertion. Slowly, he sat back down and tried to even his breath. Not a few minutes later, he saw Scotland slink downstairs and out the front door through the corner of his eye. He felt fleeting satisfaction in that he had caused the man to drop his bravado and leave him be, but he also knew that this was but a temporary reprieve. He was quite sure that his brother would avenge himself, and soon, probably by bragging to that insufferable Frog about how he'd reduced his snooty little brother into a desperate, begging mess. England sighed and began to mentally prepare himself for the inevitable.

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Questions? Comments? Pie? Leave'em all in the reviews, please~!

BTW, I'm thinking of maybe posting the lemon that preceded this fic, and calling it "One Night Stand", what do ya think?


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